


I'll Lick Your Wounds

by FluffyGlitterPantsDragon



Series: Devil You Know [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Speaks All Languages, Oral Sex, Pegging, Penis In Vagina Sex, Rampant abuse of italics, Sexual Dysfunction, Smut, Spy Natasha Romanov, Trust Issues, Wing Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-12 22:13:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21233396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffyGlitterPantsDragon/pseuds/FluffyGlitterPantsDragon
Summary: Natasha does a bit more investigating. Sex ensues.I thought it would be interesting to break her a little, and this is in no way to be interpreted as a commentary on her character in and of itself - I just thought I'd explore the idea a bit.Mild trigger warning, I guess? Spoiler in top notes if you want to know the nature of her dysfunction.





	I'll Lick Your Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> Holy shit, I'm alive. Other stuff at the bottom.
> 
> Me: How about we not write anything difficult right now?  
Brain: How about a language war with the Devil and a spy?  
Me: Fuck you.
> 
> Hetero sex? In my fic??? What?  
*trigger note*  
Nat's thing is she can't have an orgasm, at all. It's common enough that I think it deserves a spotlight somewhere. I experienced it when i was on the wrong kind of anti-depressant, and thank gods that switching meds fixed it. Do not recommend.

Before she became an Avenger, Natasha Romanoff had been a damn good spy. Still is, even if it isn’t her exclusive function these days.

Before she ever met any Asgardians (or anything else extraterrestrial), there had been adversaries to defeat, all just humans, in one form or another. None were immortal - or at least not in any way that couldn't be explained by science. None claimed to be *the* God, or in this case, *the* Devil. It was possible he was just biding his time to do something nefarious, but even that seemed unlikely. He didn't move in upper-class circles - or if he did, he kept a low profile, which frankly seemed unlikely. During the few minutes he refreshed their drinks, she got as much useful information as JARVIS could deliver via a headset - which wasn’t a lot. He wasn't running for office, or openly donating to politicians that the AI could find. Even at his day job, he was merely a consultant with no aspirations to move higher within the LAPD - in fact, he had done things that would get anyone else fired dozens of times over. He owned multiple properties, all under the _ devil_ name, and the club he ran did very well, even by LA standards. Nothing unusual there. The money could have come from wealthy parents, it was just a little hard to fact-check that since she couldn’t get a name from him.

Natasha wasn’t _ worried_. She doesn’t _ worry_. She doesn’t panic. She doesn’t run from a fight and she didn’t run from the_ Devil. _

She was also neither stupid, nor reckless. He posed no present danger, and men often revealed interesting tidbits about themselves when turned down sexually. So she did. He simply bid her a good night and stated his door (and bed) was always open. She bit her tongue and resisted the urge to stay after all. It was too good an opportunity to see if he'd try to vanish off the face of the Earth now that he knew he had their attention.

When she rode back to Stark's local base (also a penthouse, but modern) in LA, his bedroom door was firmly closed. She put in earplugs and found something interesting to watch on YouTube in her room. Only not that interesting since she couldn't remember any of it the next day, thoughts of Biblical names rolling around in her head, and idly wondering if his bed frame survived the night of Mazikeen.

What little sleep she got didn't help. She threw her covers back and grabbed a long t-shirt that stopped at mid-thigh.

She decided she wanted to know who this asshole was. Typically, she didn’t give two shits about a secret identity under the one who wore the mask, but there was something _ different _ about him. According to JARVIS, he and the demon had risen like phoenixes out of less than even ashes - at least their bodies and business had. The stories they hid behind were as old as time itself, and an odd choice for someone who had to be the laziest supervillain ever in a world of heroes.

She'd met self-proclaimed gods, a handful of mutants and some aliens - those who would crown themselves kings and queens of countries and planets. No one had taken over earth yet. 

She didn't talk to JARVIS all that often. She could research on her own, but she was pretty sure the AI was also taking the black hole that was the Devil as a personal insult to his considerable resources. "Hey, J?"

"Ms. Romanoff?"

"What do you think he is?"

He knew who she meant. "For the moment, I'm going with... 'infuriating.'"

"Hmm."

"You should be aware that _ Actually Satan _ can't be rejected as an option, as of yet."

"You aren't serious."

"I'm _ loathe _ to employ Occam's Razor, but nor can I say definitively yet that he _ isn't. _"

She growled at her breakfast. "_ More things in Heaven and on earth... _So it's a matter of information - we need to dream up some other options. Parameters. We need him to quack like a duck."

"Or like a waterfowl of any kind to begin to determine his..species."

She looked up from over her oatmeal as Stark sauntered from his bedroom covered in bruising bite marks and beaming his ass off. When she quirked an eyebrow, he responded that the ‘demon’ had left before morning, and he unashamedly announced to the breakfast nook that Maze had been the best lay of his recent life. She rolled her eyes and put it out of her mind, playing with her bowl of steel-cut oats, deep in thought.

A man with no past_ bothered_ her. It was one thing to find a dead-end. But this was just...weird. As long as these two stayed under the radar, Stark wouldn't care much. Or if he did care, he wasn't talking about it. He probably had other things on his mind, if not his dick.

Further research turned up little, aside from the occasional doppelganger - at least by description - in some old references. The AI found a couple of paintings from the renaissance with a striking resemblance, but many artists tended toward the beautiful, and there was no denying he was - not with the sheer numbers of nude photos of him that turned up in the present. 

_ Good lord_, _ have some self-respect _

Apparently the scars were at least as old as the persona. As far as villain names went, it was a good one. If she could just figure out in what way he was a _ villain_.

Mentally, she put a tick in the box under ‘possibly/probably long-lived.’ He was wealthy, which went a long way toward covering any tracks he wanted to. The _ working with/for the police thing _ made for the very definition of ‘bored and eccentric multi-millionaire.’

If there was a better person to talk to about her afterlife and the balance on her soul, she couldn’t think of one. If she believed him anyway, which she didn’t. Still, she met few unique individuals in life. Sure, hers had _ heroes _ and _ villains _ in it, but when you cut to the chase, everyone tended to be the same on some level; lousy parents, too much money or not enough, trust issues - security or insecurity, scarcity or abundance. It all boiled down to who or what one reached for in a crisis, or who they blamed - and how that information could be turned against them to get what she or her employers wanted. 

Two weeks passed. Lucifer didn’t try to contact her. No follow up. Not a peep. He did his thing with the police and helped solve a murder. JARVIS broke into his laptop with less effort than it took her to drink her morning tea. It was basically all porn. Legal porn. He had no interest in anything particularly weird. 

So she just turned up in his club, unannounced. His pleased expression when he spotted her was open, pure. He smiled brightly, gesturing her to him without hesitation, his body language relaxed and welcoming in an expensive suit.

Any human man or woman would be hard-pressed to get a fake smile by her. She knew what to look for, and didn’t see even a hint of deception in his eyes; the Devil was unguarded.

He suspected she wasn’t here to dance. He'd be a fool to think she came for the atmosphere.

She hated puzzles. But she loved solving them. Or breaking them.

She was no stranger to using any and all of her skills to get what she wanted. Love, or the imitation of love, was one of those skills, even if she didn’t employ it all that often. Not nearly as often as spy movies would have one believe.

She preferred to use her wit over her body, especially when the former required a better workout than the latter. Maybe it would be both. 

Still, his looks and overflowing vitality didn’t mean he was necessarily _ good _ at sex - though he had some interesting Yelp reviews from patrons that claimed he was. Men who looked like him tended to take themselves for granted. They also tended to look down from their height, using it for intimidation. It might depend on how much he bought into his own persona. She shook her head. Even when she tried to relax, she was working, analyzing. He watched her watching him. Patient.

She took the glass he held out. Usually, she wouldn't accept an untested drink from anyone, but she trusted JARVIS to keep a light monitor on her, just enough to keep track of her vitals through the earpiece or at the wrist, but not enough to intrude unless an emergency came up. She wasn’t wearing her suit or armor, but she didn’t need it.

He didn't _look _at her like he was waiting for some drug to take hold. _Spy work. You're never not on duty. _She took a sip. It was good. Russian whiskey? “Penny for your thoughts?”

He wet his lips with his tongue. “Wondering if you want my company or just want to know more about me.”

“Can’t it be both?”

He approached slowly, sure of his movements but not boxing her in, not crowding her. “It can. I don’t think that's the case. I certainly want to know more about you. I know you’re not afraid of me.”

Casually, she said, “I’ve met worse than you.”

His face pinched, then relaxed - doubt and curiosity mixed together. “If you’re referring to a simple body count, you’d be correct. I haven’t killed any humans.”

“Is there a better metric?”

“I happen to know that torture can be worse than death. Human souls are eternal, after all, and I know of every way they can break. Invented some myself.”

“You do one thing to me that I don’t want, and Stark will blow the top off your tower and into the next century.”

The man snorted. “I do one thing you don’t want, and I doubt _ he’s _ the one who gets to me first. I may be invulnerable, but it doesn’t mean you couldn’t find another way to harm me.”

She bit. “Care to give me a hint?”

Lucifer shrugged. “Shoot me in a place that is normally lethal on a human, and it usually knocks me out for a short period. Your gauntlets would probably do the job, but a standard TASER alone isn’t nearly enough. I suspect _ your _ electrical items are far superior to mass-market handheld weapons." He took another sip. “Thor could give me a real run for my money, with that magic hammer.”

She squinted. “Why share?”

“Why not? You can’t actually kill me.” He put his glass down again. "You aren't here to rob me, and if you're here for companionship, that'll put me right off. However, please don’t try it when a particular person is around. I’ll tell you if it becomes relevant."

"Oh, the Devil has living kryptonite? Interesting."

"Just the one." Lucifer grunted. "Would you care to sit?” He took a seat himself first, leaving her the option to sit or not. He simply looked at her in an openly friendly way, curious at what she would say and if she still wanted to try something with him, rather than assuming it was a foregone conclusion. She was trying very hard not to _ like _ him on some strange professional level.

She reclined across from him, letting her not very club-like dress drape across her legs, scarlet red and silk. “And if I’m not staying for sex?”

“Well, I’m always up for a good conversation. I can go all night, in any way you’d like. It’s not often I get to spend time entertaining a superhero.”

She felt her face reacting in spite of herself. She smoothed her features immediately. It was certainly a line she'd heard before and more than a bit of a turn-off. “Oh? You won’t be disappointed if we don’t do the dirty?”

“My darling spider, I can get sex anytime I wish. I need only crook my finger and half the club downstairs could be up here and writhing the night away. You, however, I wouldn’t wish to chase off. String up your webs and see what you might catch, eh?”

“I’m not a superhero.”

"We have some things in common, then."

A number of things ran through her head. She _ could _ get laid anytime she wanted too. Usually, it wasn’t something she sought out. The amount of badly made Avengers porn alone sometimes put her off. The few rare dates she’d been on in the last two years all turned out to be stalkers. Lucifer could take her or leave her - an unusual state for her. She glanced at the bed. Did he choose those stones for the art or the sheer absurdity of hauling such things up to the top of the building where he lived? Did he pick them specifically or just anything that was pretty and a matched set of 'stonework'? 

_ Would they be as rough and cold on her back as they looked? _

She looked at him. How far could she push it before he got bored or threw her out? "How many people have you had up here?"

"Since I moved in? More party-goers than sexual partners, though the occasional orgy makes it both." He tossed it out there like another fact of his life. _ Orgies. They happen. He participates_. "I can give you an exact number of partners, if not encounters, but it tends to - how did the Detective put it? 'Weird people out.'"

“Are you up for being fucked?” She flushed as she asked, letting her own libido take up a few reins. 

The sultry smile that spread across his face made her warm all over. “Absolutely! Do you need to make a quick trip out for your own toys, or do you mind using mine? Mine are all sanitized, but I also have some options still in boxes in the back of the closet. Or if you prefer, give us some time and I could have something sent up post haste.”

For one of those rare moments in her life, she needed a scant moment to find the right words. “And what would we be doing in the meantime?”

His eyes were dark. He looked at her through his long lashes and sure twist of his lips. “Ideally? Going down on you."

She didn’t mean to give him even that much, but her gaze flicked to the front of his trousers. He was half-hard at just the idea of pleasuring her. And not at all embarrassed about it. It was one thing for a man to talk a good game, say they’d be willing to eat out a woman first (or at all), but this time she believed him. It was... interesting. The blood rushed places and fought with her self-imposed mission to uncover his secrets. 

The spirit wasn't weak, but the flesh was becoming very willing.

Natasha stood and stepped closer and gave him a longer, slower look, over his body. Casually, yet not at all, she stepped her right boot (fuck heels) up on the glass coffee table and unzipped it, watching him through the fall of her hair. 

He sucked in a breath and crossed his legs as the leather peeled back away from her shapely calf. He wasn’t looking at her breasts, or her ass, just her movements, eyes glued to her fingers. The slide of her hand and the pinch of her fingers on the zipper. He wanted whatever she wanted to give him. 

His eyes met hers again, dancing with desire. She hesitated for a moment, waiting to see if he was trying to use his power on her again, but he seemed content not to. 

Experimentally, she sought it, trying to find where his power began and ended and if he was affecting her. Looking back, there was a distinct difference between how she felt when he _ turned it on _and when he didn’t. He gave her a soft uptick of his lips. “I’m not doing it right now. Would you like my word that I won’t?”

“Perceptive fucker, aren’t you?” She pulled the first boot off and set it on the floor, then switched feet to unzip the other one. “Are you known for keeping your word?”

“I am. It’s a point of pride. I make deals with people - not for souls - but if I don’t keep my end, why would anyone keep coming to me?”

“Ah, so it’s all just business, is it?”

“And pleasure. Lots of pleasure.”

“Hmm.” The second boot came off slowly. She pinched the tops together and set the pair on the floor and took the other end of the long couch.

Lucifer gestured to her feet. “May I?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You have a foot fetish?”

“I have an_ everything _ fetish. Well, nearly. Call it everything common. There are a few things you humans invented that don't actually float my boat."

"Just a boat? You strike me as more of a yacht man."

"Don't own any. Reminded me a bit too much of 40 days and nights; no thank you."

Nat snorted in spite of herself, and then laid back on the couch, her head pillowed upon the armrest. He scooted under her legs, moving her feet over his toned thighs. He pulled her socks off and got to work. Tingles ran up her spine with his fingers dragging lightly down her soles. He picked the right foot and got to work.

He dug his long, muscular fingertips into her arch and she groaned. He just smiled over at her, cradling her ankle and pressing his thumb into the softer flesh between bones. Natasha did not intend to gasp, “holy shit.”

"Not exactly." He chuckled, low and alluring, but didn’t crawl up her body. Didn’t take more than what was offered. 

She suddenly kind of wanted him to, despite the talking.

He looked at her from under long, long lashes and she swallowed. Every smoothing touch of his nimble fingers stroked her nerves. He somehow made it both sensual and erotic while making it also seem like he was just doing a favor for a friend. She noted his hands weren’t the least bit calloused, his fingertips were smooth, gliding like silk. 

She lifted her hand with a curling finger and _ now _ he was crawling up her body with eager eyes, just as she wanted. He took her in his arms and he tasted like smoke and whiskey. And pure lust. He held his weight over her, even now, careful not to trap her. His face pricked hers with gentle brushes. His long lashes touched her cheek. 

And fuck, he was a good kisser. Really good. She opened her mouth, taking his tongue, pushing back, running hers over his teeth. Her hands went behind his head, her fingers carding through his black hair. He purred when she touched the top of his spine, thumbs riding along his heating neck. 

He had nothing to fear from her - if he was to be believed, but he touched her like she _ could _ break him. She put her hands on his chest, on the soft fabric of his white button-up shirt. Responsive, he pulled back, holding himself up on his elbows. She could feel how hard he was through his trousers, rolling her hips up to meet his in mutual heat.

They shared some deep breaths and she swallowed again. “I have to tell you something. Normally I don’t, but I feel like I probably should.”

He kissed her cheek. “What is it, my spider? If you wish to tie me up, I have materials for that too. Silks and ropes. Whatever you want.”

Natasha touched his face, rubbing the pad of her thumb against his growth, getting his eyes on hers. “I can’t orgasm. I still enjoy sex, getting someone else off and sometimes, I get a little release. Usually, I’ll just fake it if I don't want to hurt someone's feelings. Believe it or not, I don't want my partner to feel like they've let me down when they haven't. But with you…I thought you should know.”

She expected what she usually got any time she was trying to actually be intimate. Anything and everything from anger to denial of knowledge about her own body to _ I can fix you_. He did none of those things.

What she got was a flash of pity, quickly squashed behind warm brown irises, followed by a short nod of his head. He cupped her face in an echo of her hand on his jaw. He said, “I’m sorry. Is it terribly frustrating to try?”

She told him the truth. “It depends. I have to get to a point where I accept that I won’t have an orgasm. Sometimes it takes a while to get out of my own head to achieve anything at all. Indirect pressure is better, but I don't always have that much luck on my own either.”

A careful smile stretched his pretty lips. “Well, if you’re still interested in my face between your legs, how about we get out of these clothes?”

She was. She gave him a warm smile in return and pushed off of him, standing with her back to the glass windows. Pulling the straps off her shoulders, watching him. She hadn’t thrown on matching underwear this morning. He didn’t seem to care one bit. His eyes devoured her as she dropped her dress to the floor. Lucifer sat up and pulled her hips closer to his face. He kissed her stomach, not asking about her scars as they revealed themselves. His face tickled her skin a little. 

She felt only a little bad about the underwear thing. She'd done it on purpose; nothing sexy underneath - another way to test his reactions, but his hungry expression revealed nothing but want.

For a former supposed King of Hell, he passed her no judgment in this. She pushed aside any feelings of guilt. Ultimately, her goal was still to take him apart and find out what or who he was.

He made it hard to focus. Until tonight, without exception, her targets failed to take her needs, her desires into account (which was preferred, really.) He seemed to care for nothing but.

Slowly, he kissed down her chest, nibbling at her panties. He breathed in her scent, some part of it still lingering from her recent battles - skin and leather, dry sweat and past adrenaline, she thought he could smell and taste it even after her shower - it was part of her - her past, present, and future. Gunsmoke and ozone. He nosed her, pushing her back a bit so he could get on his knees, sliding off the couch like a snake, all smooth movement and muscle. 

Natasha looked down between her breasts at his head, his pink tongue just peeking forward into the short hair around her womanhood, thick and wet. His hands cupped her ass, hot and firm. 

His mouth lifted up just a little, tilting to her entry. She thought he was grinning. 

_ Jesus, it's a turn on. _

Lucifer’s tongue swept her, staying off her clit for the most part. His lips gently cupped her wetly, kissing it once then moving lower. She could feel his teeth, just barely closing together, experimenting, finding what she liked. Her heart was pounding. She touched his head, moved her hands down to his shoulders, moved back up to take her bra off and squeeze her own nipples. 

Maybe he could tell what she was doing without looking. He moaned into her, softly. He kept his pace slow, after one or two tries at faster, his lips and tongue sucking at her, quietly wet.

_ Maybe this time? Just once? _

_ Maybe God wasn’t who she should be praying to. _

She laughed. 

He was smiling into her mons. She couldn’t see his face, but she could see when his ears pulled back, just a little, like when he smiled wide. She decided she liked his smile. His fingers pressed into her ass cheeks, pulling her harder against his mouth. She could feel each hot exhale out his nose and each breath taken in, with her hands back down on his shoulders.

She was standing in a strange man's living room, her back to the floor-to-ceiling windows, and he hadn't removed a stitch of clothing himself. 

A drop of saliva escaped and slid down her thigh. He stopped to lick it up. She whimpered. _ God. She whimpered. _

She curled her fingers into his hair, pulling his head up. "You're wearing too much."

“That I am.” Lucifer glided to his feet, bending to kiss her neck on the way. His hands played with her breasts, leaving her free to undress him. She caught his lips, kissing him. She pulled back just a little. "How about you strip for me?"

Lucifer sucked on her neck and pulled away, undoing his buttons from top to bottom. He turned and let the shirt drop. His back was gorgeous, all the way up to- "You said she cut your wings off? You really did have some, didn't you?" _ Or something. Or maybe he just liked huge scars. _ She’d seen all types - this was cauterization, old but not very old. Five or six years, probably, when he turned up here. Seeing them in person was different from photos, somehow. They looked more _ real_. She was oddly relieved they weren't fake. Her hand had come up to touch them without intention to do so. She looked down at her offending hand, irritated at her reaction.

He clucked his tongue. "Fallen _ angel_, remember? I'm afraid if you've got a wing kink, you’re out of luck."

He didn't give her a chance to examine his scars further, moving on to undoing his pants and crossing the short distance to the bed. 

His ass beckoned, deliciously round and inviting.

_ No tan lines. Hmm. _

Nat followed him, sitting on his legs as he lay back. His soft skin shivered under her touch. He was happy to lie there while she looked him over, crossing his arms over his head and looking very much like a content cat. She touched his flat stomach. His skin was _ warm _ but not feverish. "The only scars you have are on your back? Was that before or after you became invulnerable?"

"The only weapons that can hurt me are those of Hell or Heaven. Maze's Hellforged blades are what were used to cut my wings off. I honestly didn't expect the scarring to stick, but it's not a bad exchange for being rid of the things."

She moved on her knees to press her heated flesh against his erection. "Who wouldn't want to have wings?"

"With them I'm one of my brothers or sisters. Why keep them if I can't go back? They got dirty all the time anyway - good riddance."

His hands went to her knees, stroking lightly. He looked human enough, if crazy beautiful. Uncircumcised. "Why the Devil? You don't even look like one."

The reaction she thought she’d get - denial, deflection - didn't come. His smile turned bitter. "Ah, but I do. This isn't my only form you see. No demon in Hell would follow me, in this one.”

“Hmm. Can I see it?”

“I’d prefer you not to jump off the balcony, screaming in terror, no. Hard to rescue you without wings.”

She half-expected that kind of answer. “I’ve seen some scary things in my day.” _ A lot of the time while looking into a mirror__. _

She didn’t expect him to regard her seriously. “_ Otherworldly_, yes. Anything eternal?”

_ Eternal. Infernal. Celestial. _“Do gods count?”

“Asgardians, even the royalty, aren’t _ gods_. At _ best _ you could consider them distant cousins of mine - but please don't, as Loki has graced my bed. Thor probably wouldn't be happy about that.”

“Are you a god?”

He tensed. “Certainly not.”

She’d almost forgotten she was straddling him, pushed up against his wanting hardness. “Hmm, too bad. I always wanted to lay a god.” Which wasn’t true, but it got the reaction she wanted. He smiled again, and his whole body relaxed, reaching for her and pulling her down for another kiss. 

He spoke into her mouth between kisses. “I’ll do my best to make sure you aren’t disappointed.”

_ This is supposed to be a job. _

_ Sort of. _

It wasn’t like he was a real assignment. Somehow she ended up on her back again, looking up into his deep, warm eyes. He bent and kissed her jaw, lips lifting and pressing down. 

His teeth closed on her earlobe, sparking an electric reaction that curled her toes.

_ Oh God. _

A layer melted. She was entitled to a little fun, wasn’t she?

Hot tongue swept along her hairline, down her neck.

_ Stop taking notes. _

_ Stop talking to yourself. _

He was still smiling between his kisses. The corner of his lips curled where they touched her flesh, The hand not supporting himself stroked her ribs. She reacted to his light fingers on a scar there. She’d forgotten what caused it. He replaced his fingers with his lips, kissing it. 

A soft moan escaped her. She ran her fingers over the knotted ridge of one of his scars. He pulled away, just a little, though to her, he reacted as if she’d touched him with a live wire. She dropped her hand to his shoulders. 

He kissed each of her scars on the way down.

He might have paused, his hot breath on her skin. She might have thrust herself up into his mouth.

His lips parted a wide smile, rounding out to delve into her. She tensed and relaxed in waves. 

Her fingers found his hair again, tightening to something that had to be painful. He ate her like candy. 

Scuff pressed into her thighs, slowly reddening her lower body everywhere he pressed. She met his eyes, returning his intensity, but only barely, looking away first. As much as she hated herself for it, she began to lose herself in him. He really could, maybe would, stay there all night, lapping her up until she had enough. 

That point was approaching fast.

She yielded to it, allowing herself to feel his saliva run down the inside of her leg, feeling it cool as it went. His hands caressing her hips, digging at her bones under her skin. She felt it all, tried to let everything go. 

She really did.

She built and built and built and _ built. _

And there was that little…_something _she rode as hard as she could, crying out and holding onto it with a death grip of her legs around his head.

He came up to kiss her, pressing red lips against hers, asked if she wanted a condom. She said no, so he kept going, filling her slowly.

Nat fell under his weight, let herself be borne down into the sheets and blankets and taken away from everything. She was safe here. She didn’t know how she knew. It wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough, but she had a second ‘almost’ with him in her, filling her full of life and sliding heat and gasping _ want. _

_ God he feels so good. _

She must have said so, because he chuckled lowly, the kind of sound that burrows into her spine and makes her never want to move again.

Except she did anyway, flexing her stomach against his, pulling him down hard and harder into her, his stupidly long body almost enveloping hers like a hungry thing. Tall and long, he cupped her back under, cradling her in his arms, 

She should feel trapped, but she doesn’t.

She can't move, but he'd let her up in a heartbeat. She should feel anxious, not being in a position to throw him off her if she wanted to. She doesn't.

_ She’s never felt more wanted in her entire life. _

_ It’s ridiculous, _she thinks, _ impossible that someone could want me outside of.. Outside of, who I am? _

Her body moves without her thinking about it. Without planning her next move, without keeping one eye out for exits or intruders. Some part of her is screaming not to let her guard down. Not here, not ever. It's never safe. 

_ Trust your gut, never your feelings. Feelings lie. _

Her gut told her to shut the fuck up.

He sighed softly with his release and she burrowed her face into his neck. She thought he might have come quickly, was nearly disappointed, but he didn’t soften in her, his hips working a slow, wet rhythm that belied his throbbing expulsion.

She squeezed around him hard and he gasped in delight. He had definitely spent at least once, with no apparent desire to get off her. She pulled his face over hers again, kissing him. His eyes fluttered softly, the wide smile larger than her lips. 

There was a question in his eyes. She still wanted to fuck him sideways, but she wasn’t done here yet either. The hint of mischief that had faded to the background came forward again, and he thrust into her slowly. He panted against her ear and she realized she was too. She reached up and wiped beads of sweat from his brow, took them to her lips and sucked her fingers. 

His eyes crinkled and he licked the side of her face. 

She didn’t mean to, but she laughed. And it almost hurt. But it felt so, so good too as his body clenched again, tensing again, burying himself in her like she could be his salvation. Or maybe he was hers.

For the Devil, he was unbelievably pure. 

She dipped her fingers into the top curve of his ass and he just about whimpered, himself, his breath catching in his throat and looking at her with renewed interest like he hadn’t just come twice. 

_ Dirty, but pure. _

She ended up picking something from his closet. His face only got brighter when her hands hovered over larger and larger options. She decided he hadn’t been kidding when he implied or outright said he’d tried them all. She selected a silicone rainbow-striped dildo on the larger end and the water-based lube - the biggest cock probably would have taken all night, even if he was used to this sort of thing. She wasn't interested in taking all night.

The harness fit her like an airy glove, and he happily helped her with it, sucking down the tip of her new cock as if it were flesh and blood. It moved against her groin as he took it, swallowing, the little motions translating to her. He hummed in his throat in pleasure, tilting his head just so, his tongue slipping along the side where she could see. He thumbed the balls as if she were attached to them, one finger brushing back further to tease her. She groaned. He shifted on his knees and looked up at her from the end of her cock. 

A man on his knees could be very beautiful. This man, his plush lips caressing her, his upturned (freakishly long) toes behind him, outlining his truly lovely ass, that alone came close to undoing her. 

He wasn’t just enjoying it. He _ loved _it, He purred in anticipation when she pushed him bodily back on the bed. (She wasn’t letting her time in the gym go to waste.) He stroked her cock palming on lube while looking positively angelic and sinful at the same time, under her. 

She realized she hadn’t even really touched him at all yet. She bent to kiss his tip, still bobbing in the air, tasting him and, maybe even stronger, herself. Lucifer tugged her gently up, his fingers threading through the side of her harness. _Asking _ for it. 

Nat grinned and gave it to him. He clearly didn’t need any prep anyway.

That sigh, tight and winding into her bones as he dropped his resistance, welcomed her into him. He wrapped his long, long legs around her, pulling her into him, but not fast. Savoring every inch of her length. The thing was large enough that she went slow, letting him pick the pace, fucking into him as surely as he did her moments or an eternity ago.

He breathed through the intrusion, his face slack, finally opening his eyes with a long exhale when she bottomed out, the straps of her rig digging into the inside of his thighs. 

His cock had never waned a bit during the whole thing. She finally started to move, and she would have sworn his eyes flashed red for a moment before he threw his head back, giving over to her completely. 

Even without an orgasm, she liked this part. At worst, the lack of one let her focus entirely on her partner’s pleasure. She didn’t pursue the high of release, at least not anymore, and it let her appreciate how gorgeous he was under her, the flex of his spine, the sheen of his nearly golden skin, the way his fingers clenched into her skin, asking for more. 

He had the body and persona of a god (or near enough) and he let her do this to him. Wanted it. 

It was the closest she’d ever come in her life to _ coming_. 

She pulled gently at his erect flesh, in time with her hips, finding his sweet spot and coaxing it into willing submission. He clawed at the sheets under her, his palms moving up and down her legs until he arched one more time for her, his neck exposed and his ass gripping her hard. 

He made quite a beautiful mess.

The _ cuddling _ was unexpected.

After what she’d heard about Maze, she thought he might wave her off to the elevator, but instead, he leaned up, urged her back down and spooned into her back when she tried to get up. She managed to wriggle back out of the harness, sticky and hot. She wanted a shower. She also kind of didn’t, at least not right away.

She must have said something in Russian, because he responded in the affirmative, also in Russian. 

The sex fog in her brain cleared slightly. “Что ты сказал?”

He kissed the back of her neck “I said, Вы можете прийти в любое время.”

“You speak Russian?”

“I speak all languages.”

Of course he did. "Is that an angel thing?"

"One of my Dad-Given gifts. I never studied, I simply know them. Even as new languages are invented, they're simply added to my knowledge. Like the -" his face scrunched up, "blue alien cat things from that movie. Some arsehole invented the language for them, and now that's something I know too. My brothers and sisters have different gifts that I don't. One of my sisters escorts the dead to the afterlife- I'm told she and one of Loki's daughters get on quite well."

She growled. _Stupid spy brain. Don't get distracted by crazy, Nat._ Neutrally, she asked, “Um das glauben zu können, brauche ich erst Beweise?”

“Kein Problem. Womit wollen wir anfangen? What do you speak?”

“A lot of things. I bet I know as many as you do.”

“Doubtful. I speak a number of dead languages on top of _ all _ of them. But if anyone on earth can come close to matching me, I’d lay money on you.”

“(Polish) How could anyone know, if they’re dead languages?”

He stretched like a yawning cat, smiling. “Darling, I _ inspired _ _ Ignacy Krasicki_, (Polish) you’ll have to do better than that.”

She switched to Spanish. "¿Quién es la persona más extraña que has conocido?"

"¿El humano más extraño? Varios de tus reyes eran extraños. Alive, it's hard to pick. Dead? I've had a few souls who came to Hell believing they wanted to be there instead of Heaven. I abused them of that notion. I don't tolerate Devil worshippers, at least not when they participate in harmful practices."

_Huh. _His ready-made stories didn't ever vary, did they? She felt his heartbeat on her back, steady and strong. Without a hint of doubt in his voice. She grit her teeth at the necessity of grilling him. To be fair, he wasn't making it easy. All his body language said he was telling the truth. It was...infuriating her senses, even if she enjoyed the conversation.

Maybe he sensed her internal conflict, or mistook the tension for something else. He relaxed his arm around her waist, letting her go. She stretched against him, resettling herself and feeling all of his skin. She touched his wrist and held it against her stomach, holding him. It was as much to maintain contact with him as it was for her happily buzzing hind-brain. Even after sex, he smelled good. She pressed the side of her face against his neck, listening to his heartbeat, feeling it against her back. 

Shit. Her bag of tricks wasn’t _ that _ deep. She skipped French. He probably knew Italian if he knew the others, but, “(Italian) Successivamente mi dirai che sei stato anche in tutti quei paesi.” 

His smile never cracked. “Oh, that one is one of my favorites! Ever heard of the_ renaissance _? But no, I haven’t been _ everywhere_, not always enough time for it when I did get out of Hell, and without the wings, I need a passport - enormous hassle that can't always be reliably handled with bribes, sadly enough. Lately, I just haven’t wanted to leave L.A. that much, and Rome isn’t my style these days. I wouldn’t mind seeing the Galapagos Islands before they’re underwater, however,” he tilted his head to her. “(Chinese) I don’t suppose you’ve been to the far east? You look like a world traveler.”

She wasn’t fluent, but she put enough together to shrug. “I don’t get to take many vacations, but at least SHIELD isn’t Hell, I guess.”

“Have I exhausted your reserves, lovely spider?”

No, but she never gave away everything. She could admit when she was impressed. He could easily guess she also spoke Ukrainian, but she’d save Japanese for another time. “I may just pit you against JARVIS next time and call it a day.”

“Oh, that sounds entertaining. Have you bunch satisfied your curiosity yet, or are you willing to accept that I’m just telling the truth?”

She laughed. “Not yet, but JARVIS hasn’t actually ruled out _Lord of the Underworld_ just yet, because he technically can’t. It’s driving him as crazy as an AI can be.”

“How about you?’

Natasha shrugged her body against his, settling back down in his arms. “I accept that there are things in life I can’t understand. Sometimes my job requires me to_ not _ know things, as much as know things. Not that I always play by the rules, but I also know when to not look too hard.”

“Which part are you accepting then?”

“The part where_ you _ believe very strongly in yourself, whatever _ that _means. You aren’t going to hurt me; you could have easily by now. You aren’t running from anything. You’re a generous lover, which is nice, and you could still turn out to be an asshole, but I don’t think you are.”

He pushed her hair off her neck and kissed her again, soft, seeking presses of his warm lips and pricking scruff that made her whole body shiver. “You’ll come back then?”

_ This is too dangerous. - emotionally - I could fall for him. _

_ I really, really shouldn’t. _

“Definitely.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know that hormone fluctuations cause vision problems??? Holy fuck. I thought the bad shit was over, but it's not. I'm having wonderful new problems with my vision, so writing on anything but my phone is basically out. Thank Satan for Just_Mad_Enough and GlitterSkullFairy for catching an absurd amount of errors and being great moral support, GlitterskullFairy in particular for letting me beta her stuff and saving my sanity while I can't write much.
> 
> Oy.
> 
> Shit should settle down again soon. 
> 
> Fuck me.
> 
> Also, I hope you enjoy my random brain. 
> 
> Obligatory apology for not updating shit I should be updating, but, well. See above.


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